


A Lesson to be Learned

by Leathermouth



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: English Teacher Frank Iero, M/M, Secret Relationship, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leathermouth/pseuds/Leathermouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard was completely okay with blending in high school. He had his select group of friends and that's all he needed. That is, until his English teacher gets fired and is replaced with a younger teacher, fresh out of college. Gerard knows he shouldn't be attracted to Mr. Iero. He's seen those 60 Minute specials about what happens when students and teachers cross the line, but he just can't help himself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is Only the Beginning

I think I enjoy walking to school more than I do actually sitting in school. Something about the solitude and somewhat quietness of it all just seems peaceful to me and often provides me with my best thinking time. Some people prefer to do their deep and meaningful thinking in the shower; I on the other hand favor to do it whilst walking to the teenage equivalent of prison.

It’s not that I don’t like school it’s just that it feels trivial and pointless to me. A majority of the subjects were never touched on again in college or life in general after graduation. It was just a way to kill time really. I had come to believe that parents only sent us to school to get us out of their hair for a solid eight hours a day, five days a week. The sad part of that theory was that it was completely plausible.

Not that there was anything I could do about it, though. While I was 17 and legally able to drop out of school if I so desired, my parents would never allow it. It was stay in school or live on the streets. Needless to say, I elected to remain in school. But like I said before, I don’t dislike school, but I don’t love it either. It was a neutral subject for me.

I mean, once you could get past the drivel subject matter and stuffy classrooms full of ignorant children, school wasn’t completely horrendous. And, alright, I guess  _all_  the subjects weren’t exactly awful, just the ones involving numbers. Let’s face it, how many times in your life are you going to need to find the derivative of the function f(x) =  x 2 \+ 4 x +3?  I’ll tell you how many times: zero.

No one is ever going to need to know that. Well, unless of course you’re going to be a rocket scientist or, God help you, a calculus teacher. I can tell you right now, no one from Belleville is going to be a rocket scientist. It’s just not what people here do.

People in Belleville went to high school, graduated, went to a small community college or local university, and got a basic office job right before settling down and starting a family only to have the events repeat themselves on the next generation. It was always the same. No one here ever did anything exciting.

Okay, that’s not  _entirely_  true, but it was pretty damn close. There was always the one person every couple years or so that would have some sort of “big break,” if you will, and ended up leaving the city to go somewhere exotic and fabulous. Only, being here meant that exotic and fabulous was referring to Newark or Boston, or in very rare cases, New York City. However, I’ve been to New York City and I’ll have you know it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Dirty, over-crowded, and loud. Not a place I desired to be for an afternoon, let alone an extended period of time.

Anyways, back to the subject at hand: walking to school. If you had asked me a couple years ago, I probably would have said I loathed the 11 block walk to Hamilton Middle School. Back then, my peers tended to pick on me more and used the walk to the school to target me. Let’s just say it wasn’t my favorite part of the day.

But now that we were older, most had gotten their driver’s license or bummed a ride from a friend. I had my license, but no car and there was no way in hell I was asking my mother for a ride, so I elected to walk and use the time to think while my brother Mikey chose to sleep in and catch a ride from my mom. Queen of Peace High School was further than my middle school had been, but waking up an hour earlier each morning to walk was worth the time alone. I, for one, am not a morning person so it’s kind of a good thing that no one walks with me or I’d end up shoving them into traffic at the slightest thing.

And lo and behold, here I am, walking to school and contemplating the meaning of life. Okay, the meaning of life isn’t exactly what I’m thinking about. I’m not Socrates or Aristotle, just little, old Gerard Way walking off to school with a bag full of homework I hadn’t bothered to complete.

My mind is filled with less trivial things than the workings of the universe and the meaning of life. At the moment, I’m more concerned with what I’m going to do for the art seminar coming up next month. I, as usual, have procrastinated on coming up with a piece to put in and everyone has already finished their designs and I haven’t even thought up anything to create. This poses a problem, considering my only chance to get into art school on a scholarship is riding on this stupid seminar. Whatever I create has to be the best thing I’ve ever created, and it’s definitely got to surpass anything anyone else in the program has completed.

I let out a sigh refrain from throwing myself in front of the next vehicle that passes me. I seriously have no idea what the hell I’m going to do. Any other time I can come up with something creative and unique for a show, but no. When I need it most of course, my creativity disappears and leaves me with zero inspiration.

I finally spy the Cathedral near my high school coming into focus signaling that I was only a block more away from my own, personal Catholic hell, or  _purgatory_  if you will. It’s not that I’m not religious, but when you’re subjected to it all every day of your life, it starts to get old and you start to get sick of it. Plus, I’d rather not follow organized religion, ya know? Kind of not my thing.

I drag myself up the slow incline of the sidewalk and finally arrive at the front entrance to Queen of Peace. Not many people are around yet, considering I always arrive insanely early. Oh well, I like the quiet of the halls. The school isn’t bad when it’s empty of mindless chatter from the idiots I’m forced to associate with.

Some of the kids aren’t bad, though. My best friend, Ray, he’s pretty decent to hang around with. He’s kind of quiet, but then again so am I, so it’s really a perfect match. No awkward forced conversations in the hall or at lunch, just a peaceful silence.

Ray isn’t in a lot of my classes, but he’s at least in Fundamentals of Music and Biology with me, along with lunch. I don’t really talk to anyone else though, besides Mikey, but he’s two years below, so there’s no chance he’d be in one of my classes. There are the occasional acquaintances I have in certain classes, but for the most part I keep to myself.

I wander down the vacant hallway to my locker, quickly spinning the lock and depositing my backpack inside. I don’t even know why I bother to take the stupid thing back and forth; I never take home any homework anyway. And those rare occasions when I do, it never gets done. I grab my notebook, a pencil, and the required novel for my English Literature class before slamming my locker door shut harder than necessary. The clanging echoes off the cement walls around me and I cringe a little.  _Oops_.

I head down the hall and follow the familiar steps until I finally locate my Lit classroom and waltz in, immediately choosing a seat in the dead center of the room, ensuring I could avoid most of the stares that teachers always directed towards the front and back rows. Flipping my notebook open to the first empty sheet, I immediately set to work on doodling away.

I’ve successfully covered about 75% of the page in small sketches of various monsters and comic book characters when other students finally start filtering through the door. I try to stay focused on my doodling, but the noise from everyone soon gets too distracting and with a sigh, I flip my notebook shut, turning my attention to staring at my peers all pouring in through the door.

The bell rings not soon after and everyone quickly moves to sit down in their desks, the noise dying down instantly to avoid Mr. Weekes flipping out and giving them all detention. The class learned really fast at the beginning of the year that Mr. Weekes didn’t appreciate people standing around after the bell had rung. Sometimes it was like handing out detention slips was his favorite hobby. As if he couldn’t get enough of watching the kids have to serve out a sentence for the smallest of things.

Five minutes pass by and the class starts to whisper, it slowly building into a louder wave of conversation.

“Where is he?”

“Maybe he’s sick and they forgot to get a substitute like freshman year when Ms. Colleen was out with the flu.”

“No, I bet he’s just waiting to burst in and get us all with detention slips for talking.”

“Maybe he got fired!”

The theories circulate around the room and I refrain from letting out a yawn. The kids I’m forced to go to school with can be so dense sometimes. Maybe Mr. Weekes is just late. Why does it have to be something dramatic?

The girl next to me is about to rush out yet another theory about how her mom had heard Mr. Weekes was having an affair with Mr. Stump’s wife, when none other than Mr. Stump rushes in the door, breathing so hard it’d seem as if he’d run a marathon.

“Sorry, about the wait, kids,” he breathes out, clutching a hand to his chest and I feel a split second of fear that maybe he’s having a heart attack when he finally is able to calm his breathing and stand upright. “Mr. Weekes, unfortunately, was let go this morning.”

“Why?” A kid from the back row calls, and I instantly recognize the snotty voice of Pete and have to roll my eyes a little. Little Pete Wentz, always thinking he was entitled to know everyone’s business.

“Well,” Mr. Stump says, sounding flustered as he focuses on adjusting his tie. “He, um, well, didn’t use the school computers correctly and we were forced to make a decision early this morning.”

“Haha, he was watching porn on his computer!” Another boy from the back calls out and the whole class bursts into laughter as Mr. Stump’s face slowly turns to a color resembling something like a turnip.

“Yes, well, anyways, I had to find a last minute substitute, as you can imagine and he’s actually going to be with us for the rest of the year, and hopefully permanently. So, everyone, meet your new teacher, Mr. Iero.”

We all snap our attention to the door as a shorter man, with shaggy black hair bounces through the door. And I mean bounces in a literal term. The man looked like he had on those moon bounce shoes almost…

I let my eyes wander over Mr. Iero’s features. He can’t be more than 23 and he has the prettiest eyes I have ever seen before, they are directly between a hazel and a deep shade of green. His hair makes him look like he is no older than the rest of us, along with his casual dress of only a black button down shirt and faded, black jeans. His lips are curved into a smile, pulled back over white teeth that aren’t 100% straight, but still result in one of the most stunning smiles in what I can only assume to be the entire world.

Mr. Iero is, in one word, gorgeous.

“Hello,” he speaks out, his light voice sounding throughout the whole room. “Well, I guess I’m Mr. Iero, and welcome to English Literature.”


	2. Crushcrushcrush

The class all seems to give a collective look around and I notice most of the girls in the front row move to sit up straighter in their seats, as if to show Mr. Iero they’re paying full attention to him.

Looks like I’m not alone in thinking he’s attractive. Mr. Stump backs out of the door and shuts it behind him. The boys in the back row start whispering and soon the whole class is talking in a quiet murmur that seems to be escalating.

“Alright,” Mr. Iero says, calling everyone back to silence again. “As I understand, you’ve been reading A Catcher in the Rye, correct?” The class gives a collective affirmative response and he smiles again. “Good, that happens to be one of my favorite books.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling at that. I love A Catcher in the Rye, too. Shut up, don’t say or do anything stupid.

“Now,” Mr. Iero says, wandering over to the desk and sitting down on the top, letting his legs swing like a small child. He has on black Converse and I try not to let out a laugh. He’s not very mature compared to most of the kids in this class. “Who can give me a summary of Holden?”

A girl in the front row instantly lets her hand shoot up and Mr. Iero looks a little taken aback by her enthusiasm, but gestures to her anyway to go ahead.

“I’m Lisa, by the way,” the girl says, a flirtatious smile so heavy in her voice that I roll my eyes. “Personally, I think Caulfield is, well, an idiot. He just blames everything on everyone around him and he’s whiney. I think he’s the type of person who takes things too literally.”

Mr. Iero smiles, but shakes his head.

“Not quite, Lisa,” he turns his attention to the rest of the class. “Anyone else?”

“He’s retarded!” Pete calls from the back, eliciting laughter from the rest of his gang of imbeciles.

Mr. Iero bites his lip a bit, almost as if he’s searching for what to say now. Before I know what’s happening, the words are spilling out of my mouth.

“He’s depressed,” my own not only surprises me, but everyone else in the class room. The back room gets quiet and I feel everyone’s eyes on me, including Mr. Iero’s. Fuck.

“And your name is?” Mr. Iero asks, giving me a soft smile and I have to control myself to keep from melting into a puddle on the floor.

“G-gerard,” I stutter out. I never spoke out in classes, and this is the perfect example of why. I hated attention on me. When attention was directed at me, I froze and turned into a stuttering mess.

“Well, Gerard, why do you think he’s depressed?” Mr. Iero leans back a little and folds his arms across his chest, the small smile still in place on his perfect face.

“Uh, well first there are the actual physiological symptoms throughout the entire book,” I say, slowly gaining a little more confidence. “He has fainting spells, headaches, and even experiences nausea. Then there are the reasons why he could get depressed. He’s failed out of schools left and right. He’s always having violent outbursts and he screams more than most teenagers do. If you read closely, you can tell just how dark his mind is from his whole outlook on the world. I mean, honestly, I can relate to the kid. Depression makes you feel like you’re drowning and everyone around you is still breathing. Sometimes you have to scream just to get people to notice you. He’s just depressed and wants someone to help.”

I finish with a shrug and notice how Mr. Iero’s smile has grown wider and he’s nodding his head slowly.

“Exactly,” he says, clapping his hands together and jumping off the desk to his feet. “Now, I know it’s my first day, but I’m going to give you guys an assignment. I want you to write me a paper, no specifications on length or anything, but I want you to compare yourself to Holden Caulfield. What characteristics do you see in both yourself and Holden? How can you relate to him? Due Friday, alright?”

The class sighs but I can’t even explain how excited I am for this assignment. I’ve always been able to identify to Caulfield. He’s been my favorite character since I first read A Catcher in the Rye. I have always been good at writing for English classes, call it my special gift, but this is going to be my best work yet.

The bell rings and everyone moves to get out of the class as quickly as possible, as if Mr. Iero is going to give us another assignment if we dawdle around. I busy myself with making sure I have my pencil and books to avoid the massive crowd at the door before finally standing up and noticing I’m the only one left in the room besides Mr. Iero.

I make my way to the door, hoping he won’t notice, but of course because I have the luck of a black cat under a ladder, he looks up and gives me another smile.

“Gerard, right?” He asks, walking closer to me as I withhold from taking a step back away from him as I nod. “Your response about Caulfield was great. You must be one of the few students who have actually read Catcher instead of looking it up on SparkNotes or something.” He laughs and I let out a nervous, breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, well, it’s one of my favorite books. It, uh, it always has been.” I shrug and Mr. Iero gives me another smile.

“Mine, too. I’ve always been able to relate to Holden better than any other literary character, I think.” At that I have to actually smile back at him and nod enthusiastically.

“Same,” I say, laughing nervously again. “Plus, Salinger is just a really great writer. I think he captured Holden’s, like, inner struggle really well, you know?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he says, his smile sending waves of butterflies through my stomach. Suddenly I’m a 12 year old girl flirting with her crush. “What other books are you interested in?”

“Uh, well, not the usual ones that everyone is. I like the darker stories, I mean, Salinger isn’t extremely dark, but Caulfield is. Uh, I really like Shakespeare because he wasn’t afraid to kill off everyone, I guess. Stephen King is a given, obviously, uh…” I trail off, realizing I’m rambling but Mr. Iero just smiles more, cocking his head to the side a little.

“Ah, I love Shakespeare and King, as well. What do you think of J. R. R. Tolkien?”

“He’s okay,” I hedge, not wanting to sound overly excited because I’m kind of a fanatic when it comes to The Lord of the Rings. “I like his use of exact detail. He’s great at getting explaining exactly how something should look or sound or feel.”

“Yes!” Mr. Iero exclaims, making me jump back a little in shock. “His use of detail is probably my favorite part of the writing outside of the storyline. It’s perfect.”

He’s getting excited and I have to smile at how adorable it is to watch him get so worked up over something. Listening to someone discuss something they’re passionate about is one of my favorite things. The way their eyes light up and they express themselves with their hands is just, well, heartwarming.

“Have you ever read anything by Margaret Atwood?” Mr. Iero asks as he walks over towards a bookshelf against the wall, ripping me from my thoughts.

“Uh, not that I can think of…” I’ve read a lot of books, and sometimes it’s hard for me to keep authors straight unless the book is a favorite or they’ve written a lot of things I’ve come across. I watch as he scans his eyes through the various works of literature before finally making a small noise of recognition and reaching up on his tip-toes to snag a book off the top shelf. I bite my tongue to keep from awing at how adorable his lack of height is.

“Here,” he says, handing me an old, red book. The letters across the front identify it as being titled The Handmaid’s Tale and I furrow my eyebrows together. I’ve never even heard of this book. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of the author either. “It’s really good, I promise.”

He holds his hands up mock-surrender and I force out a laugh.

“Just,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Read it, and tell me what you think, alright? I just have a feeling you’ll like it. It’s dark, but it’s sort of weird, too. It’s a lot like 1984.”

My face must light up at that because he gives me another smile. I loved reading 1984. The dystopia factor was just unfathomable to me, and it intrigued me.

“Yeah, um, well, thanks, I will.” I cough and chance a look at the clock on the wall. “Shit, I’m late for art.” I blurt out the sentence without thinking and instantly clamp my mouth shut.

“I can write you a pass,” Mr. Iero laughs, and I notice how the skin around his eyes crinkles up when he smiles. He walks over to his desk and motions for me to follow. I awkwardly stand there as he extracts a pad of paper from the drawer and scrawls across it quickly before detaching it and handing it to me with another eye-crinkling smile. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks,” I breathe out, the words catching in my throat a little. “Well, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See ya, Gerard,” Mr. Iero gives me one last smile before turning back to his desk, leaving me all but running towards the door.

Calm down, Gerard, calm down. He’s a teacher and that’s all he’ll ever be. A teacher. Just a teacher… A really hot teacher though… No, stop.

I jog down the hall towards my locker and can’t help but think how I don’t think I’ve ever found a teacher this attractive before. I mean, sure there were the teachers I could look at and know they were good looking, but Mr. Iero, he’s different. He’s… gorgeous. And perfect, as far as I can tell. Shit, this is not good.

I round the corner of the hall almost slamming into Mr. Stump.

“Whoa, Gerard, slow down there,” he says, throwing his hand out onto my shoulder to steady both of us before we can tumble to the ground. “Shouldn’t you be in art class with Mr. Walker right now?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, on my way,” I hold out the pass for his inspection. “Me and Mr. Iero were talking and I forgot about the time, sorry.”

“Oh, okay,” Mr. Stump nods, clearly satisfied that I wasn’t skipping class to smoke in the bathroom like most of the guys from my grade. “What do you think of Mr. Iero? Think he’ll be a good fit for the job?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. He really seems to know what he’s talking about, I guess.”

I honestly don’t know what to say. Yeah, he’s a great teacher and he’s probably great in bed as well. No, Gerard, stop.

“Good,” Mr. Stump says, nodding and looking proud of himself. “Well, you better get on to class before you miss the entire lesson.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, before speeding past him, bypassing my locker and going directly to the art corridor. I scurry down the hall and skid to a stop outside my classroom, walking in and noticing I’m over half an hour late. Shit.

I hand the pass to Mr. Walker, who smiles at me and gestures for me to get on with working before returning to the canvas he’s painting a pack of wolves onto. I sigh gratefully for the lack of lecture that most teachers would have given me. I move to walk away but Mr. Walker’s voice calls after me.

“Gerard?” I close my eyes and let out a deep sigh before turning around to face him. He’s still focused on his canvas but I can tell he knows he has my attention. “Make sure you have your design for the seminar done by next week. I wanna make sure it’s perfect. Especially with the scouts who are coming down.”

He looks up and gives me a smile, small bits of blue paint splattered in his brown beard and I nod, giving him a ensuring smile.

“I will, Mr. Walker. I’m almost finished with it, actually.”

His smile widens and I turn back around maneuvering my way through the tables and find a secluded seat in the back near the light-up tracing tables. Tossing my notebook and copies of Catcher and The Handmaid’s Tale down on it, I walk towards the counter and grab a piece of paper and a package of charcoal pencils before finally going back to the desk and sitting down. Now I know what I’m going to draw, and it’s all thanks to the very attractive -and unattainable- Mr. Iero.


	3. Dear Insanity

I let my pencil scrape over the textured paper. I should have started out with a rough draft on basic, computer paper, but I hate doing drafts. I always end up perfecting it, but I’m never able to recreate it for the final product. The charcoal smears smoothly across the paper as I sketch in the walls of the house I’m detailing.

“Shit,” I mutter as I draw a line too far into the center of the paper. I let out a frustrated groan as I slide the paper away and put my head in my hands. I can’t do this.

“Hey,” Mr. Walker’s calming voice breaks through the muted buzz of chatter around the room and I sigh, lifting my head up to look at him. He pulls out a stool next to me and folds his arms across the table top. “What’s up?” 

I sigh, letting my shoulders rise and fall in a half-assed shrug.  “I just,” I gesture vaguely at the paper, waving my hands in circles more than actually pointing at anything. “Can’t get what I see in my head onto my paper. I know what I want… it just won’t come out right.”

“Well,” Mr. Walker says, sliding my paper closer to him and looking at my pathetic excuse for a drawing. “I think, maybe you just don’t know what you want. And that’s why it won’t come out right. You think you want something, but part of you knows it’s not the right thing to want to create. Messing up is your mind’s way of telling you to change direction.”

I stare at him for a moment, hoping he’ll clarify what he means, but he simply smiles and pats my shoulder before standing up and walking back to his own canvas. _What the actual fuck?_

I glance over at my paper and contemplate it for a few minutes before finally sliding it back in front of me and turning it upside down. I drag my pencil up, connecting one side of the paper to the adjacent side and repeat the process a few millimeters to the side, being careful not to smudge the other blackened lines.

I continue the process around the entire paper, crossing some of the lines and letting them leave the center of the page open in a rough, diamond shape. In the open space I shade in prison bars wrapped in barbed wire with hands protruding through the open spaces of the bars. I make sure to have the shading all right so the drawing almost looks 3D and get up, walking to the backroom to locate a frame.

Digging through the piles of broken, ripped, and wrong sized frames takes longer than I thought it would and I hear the bell ring, signaling it’s time for lunch. Shit. Oh well, Mr. Walker usually lets me sit in here throughout the day anyway, so it’s not too big a deal. I finally find the perfect frame (black, matte, and thankfully the right size) and take it back to my desk where Ray is already sitting, two trays of food sat out for us. 

“Thanks,” I breathe out, smiling a little. The thing about Ray is while he may not talk a lot, he definitely knows how to read people. Plus, he always knows the days I end up staying back late in the art room to work on some God forsaken project.

“Not a problem,” Ray waves me off, popping a tater tot in his mouth. I pick one off the other tray, placing it in my mouth and letting it crunch loudly. I pick up my drawing and fit it to the back of the frame, putting masking tape all around the edges to hold it in place before finally flipping it over to exam the whole piece. 

“Perfect,” I mutter, turning it at different angles to evaluate it better. Ray leans over and glances at the drawing over my shoulder.

“Not bad,” he comments, then pauses for a moment. “…What is it?”

“My desires trying manifest themselves and escape my mind.”

“Uh, nice,” Ray scratches at his head, tilting it a little to look at the drawing again. “I guess I can kind of see it….”

I let out a sigh and sit the piece down on the table. Ray isn’t exactly the most artsy guy around. He’s great at music, but when it comes to physical art, he doesn’t have a clue. Grabbing another tater tot off the tray and popping it in my mouth I glance around the room. I wonder if I should make another piece to put in, just in case this one doesn’t win out. I really want to make an impression on the art scholars coming, and I’m just not sure how secure I feel about this project.

Oh well, maybe I’ll make one later if Mr. Walker doesn’t think this is good enough, but for now this will have to suffice. I pick up my bottle of water and take a swig of it before picking up the rest of my tray and dumping it all in the garbage can.

“Dude, I would have eaten all of that,” Ray’s indignant voice whines from behind me and I turn around and smirk before gesturing at the bin. 

“Be my guest, Toro.”

His face scrunches up and he shakes his head, his curly hair flopping all over the place like the top of a tree in a windstorm.

  
******************************************

I somehow manage to make it through the rest of the day without going to any of my other classes, but that’s probably due to the fact that I skipped out the back door after fourth period and walked home. Skipping halfway through the day probably isn’t my best choice today, but I can’t be bothered to deal with the immature children filling the halls at Queen of Peace. I’d rather be at home reading the novel Mr. Iero gave me.

Sneaking out the back door of the school is too easy. You just have to be careful to avoid vice principal Bryar. Actually, avoiding Mr. Bryar at any point in your high school career would probably be the best option, but especially if you’re about to leave campus early.

Thankfully though, Mr. Bryar isn’t anywhere near the exit when I decide to sneak down the hall and out the door and running to dodge behind cars in the parking lot in case a stray faculty member is roaming the area.

I’m busy focusing on the door behind me, to make sure that no one has emerged and tried to drag me back to the Catholic prison when suddenly I’m slamming into someone. The next thing I know, I’m staring up at the cloudy, smog-filled sky while fireworks burst in front of my eyes.

“What the fuck?” I groan, rubbing the back of my head as I glance around looking for the person I’ve plowed into. _Shit_.

Mr. Iero is sitting on the ground opposite me, rubbing his jaw and laughing in a high pitched sound that vaguely reminds me of a small child. He’s laughing, but I know I’m so fucked, and not even in the good way. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my head again and glancing around the parking lot. 

“Totally fine,” Mr. Iero says, smiling as another giggle forces its way out. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking than my phone.” He holds up his black iPhone and I nod, not wanting to own up to the fact that I was trying to escape from the building.

I watch as Mr. Iero pulls himself up to his feet and walks over, holding his hand out to me. I hesitate a few seconds too long but grab his hand anyway. He’s stronger than I was expecting and I don’t even have to help get myself up on my feet.

“Thanks,” I mumble, brushing off the small pieces of gravel and dirt that are all over my uniform. 

“Not a problem,” he says, giving me another wide smile. “So what exactly are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in fourth period?”

I have to resist being a four year old and yelling the “shouldn’t you?!” response and swallow a little to clear my throat.

“Uh, well…” I try and think up a quick excuse, but nothing is coming to mind. _Mental note to self, watch more high school, teen movies_.

Mr. Iero laughs, catching me off guard and I feel my eyes widen a little as I look at him.

“Skipping, huh?”

I feel my face flare up as I swallow the ridiculous amount of saliva that’s accumulated in my mouth. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit_.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Iero says with a smirk. I freeze a little, waiting for the inevitable threat of a detention. “I won’t tell anyone.”

I blink and almost miss the small wink he throws in as his smirk widens into his huge smile again, causing my stomach to give a not-so-unpleasant lurch.

“Uh, what?” I ask, rubbing my head again. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, but I just need something to do with my hand or I’m going to attack Mr. Iero with a fucking bear hug.

“I know what it’s like to be a teen. Not so long ago, I was one. Trust me when I say, I know how it feels to want a day off school once in a while. Now go, before one of the other staff sees you.”

He shoos me off like a small animal and I stare at him for a few moments before he cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Or I could take you to Mr. Bryar’s office and tell him I caught you in the parking lot trying to leave…”

And that’s my cue to leave.

“Uh, no thanks, I’m good. Bye!” I turn around and power walk in the opposite direction of Mr. Iero.

“Bye, Gerard,” he chuckles behind me before turning and walking back to the entrance of the school.

As I start to walk away I realize that the blood that was previously pooling in my cheeks from embarrassment has recently surged southwards. Fuck. I walk back to my house at the quickest pace I can manage without somehow incurring an asthma attack. I dodge through traffic and narrowly miss getting hit by some jackass with a 4X4 truck.

I nearly sprint up my driveway and rush down the stairs to my room as soon as the door slams shut behind me.

“Fuck,” I huff out, discarding my backpack and undoing my belt as quick as I can and throwing it across the room. I hear the metal buckle clang against my desk chair but ignore it as I throw open the button to my pants.

I lick my palm and shove my hand down into my underwear, groaning as soon as my hand makes contact with my dick. 

“Fuck,” I moan out, tightening my grip around my cock imagining Mr. Iero’s perfect lips stretched around it. I stroke up towards the head, giving my hand a twist and thumbing over my slit, picturing Mr. Iero’s tongue stroking over it and collecting the small bead of precum that’s already accumulated there. I haven’t done this in a while, so I already know I’m not going to last. I rub my palm up over the head, getting more precum on it before sliding it back down my length.

“Shit,” I slide my hand down to my base, tightening my fist and using the precum to slick up my entire cock before starting to fist along my length faster. I imagine Mr. Iero kneeling in front of me, his black hair pooling over his beautiful eyes as his lips stretch, red and shiny, around my dick as I thrust in his mouth and I let out deep moan before fisting myself harder.

I visualize Mr. Iero giving me a smirk and running the tip of his tongue from the head to my base and before I know I’m moaning loudly and coming so hard my vision goes momentarily white. I pant and try to catch my breath as my vision slowly comes into focus and notice I’ve successfully pinstriped the entire front of my boxers and school pants.

_ Wonderful _ .

I sigh, peeling off my boxers and pants, kicking them somewhere near my hamper and scan the ground for a somewhat clean pair of underwear to put on. I finally locate a seemingly decent pair and pull them on before collapsing face first onto my bed.

“Holy shit,” I speak into the pillow, the sound coming out muffled. Did I seriously just jerk off to the idea of a teacher giving me the best blow job of my life? 

Okay, well the only blowjob, but still. 

How the hell did that even happen? I don’t even remember him doing anything that should have even caused me to be turned on. I let out a groan and roll over to face my ceiling. 

“It’s gonna be a long year...”


	4. Calm Before the Storm

“Gerard?” Mikey’s voice arouses me out of my nap that I wasn’t even aware I was taking.

“Mmph?” I grunt, rolling over onto my back to rub the sleep from my eyes, my vision coming into focus on my younger brother standing over at me, a worried expression plastered on his face.

“You feeling okay?” He presses his palm to my forehead and I flinch away. His hands feel like he stuck them in a fucking bucket of ice. I try to squirm away but he keeps his freezing hand against my skin for a moment before frowning. 

“What the hell are you doing?” I move to sit up in the bed and realize I’m still in just my boxers and t-shirt and scramble for the blanket, covering myself. Not like Mikey hasn’t seen worse before, but still. Being anything other than fully clothed in front of my brother feels weird as fuck and I don’t like it.

“Trying to figure out if you’re sick, you asshat,” He swats his hand at me like he hadn’t even noticed that I wasn’t wearing pants. He straightens up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Why he never bothered to get contacts was a mystery with me. Maybe he liked the concept of glasses, and by that I mean he thought they made him look more intelligent. “Anyway, I wanted to know why you left school early.”

I freeze. “Wait, how did you know I left school early?”

“Mr. Bryars called me down to give me your Biology homework. He asked if you had gotten sick and went home, but I didn’t know if you had given someone else an excuse so I said I didn’t know.” He’s fidgeting with his hands and I can tell nothing good is coming. Nothing but bad news ever follows when Mikey starts playing with his fucking hands.

“And?” I prompt, waving my hands in a continuing motion.

“And you have detention tomorrow after school,” he rushes out, biting his lip and not looking at me. “I’m sorry, Gee.” 

Before I can say anything, he’s rushed up the stairs out of my room and I hear the door at the top click shut behind him.

“Fuck me,” I groan, leaning back onto my pillow with my arms folded over my eyes. 

I hear the door upstairs click open and I unfold my arms from over my face. Mikey doesn’t come down but I can hear him hesitating at the top of the stairs.

“Gee?” He calls, fear evident in his voice as if he’s afraid that I’m gonna lurch out of bed and tear up the stairs after him.

“What?” I bark out, glaring at the staircase, knowing that he can’t see me.

“Mom called and said to order a pizza and she’ll pay you back when she gets home later tonight, so I need cash for the pizza guy.” He sounds like a small child if he can have just one more cookie when he’s already had like 5 and I let out an exasperated sigh, staring up at my ceiling. Mikey must think I’m ignoring him because I hear the top step creak as he steps down onto it. “Gee?”

“Alright,” I shout up in his general direction as I drag myself out of my bed and over to the desk in the corner. I shift through the various art supplies and old homework until I finally find my beaten-to-shit leather wallet. I flip it open and dig out a crumpled up $20 bill and turn around and hand it to Mikey who, unsurprisingly, is already standing behind me with his hand stuck out.

“Thanks, Gee,” he gives me a small smile and I reach out and ruffle his hair.

“Yeah, no problem. Just don’t tell Mom about the detention, or I’ll tell her you used the money for cigarettes instead.”

***********************

The next morning I have to literally drag my sorry ass out of bed. I stayed up until 5am this morning reading that book Mr. Iero gave me. He was right, I did like it. A lot actually. I make a mental note to buy a copy the next time I take a trip to Barnes & Noble as I pull on my last clean pair of school pants, tucking my white shirt into them and smoothing down the front. 

I loathe wearing this stupid uniform. The school wants to keep us from being distracted by different clothing, or to sort of, stop bullying because of being different. In my opinion, making us all dress the same is just ridiculous. It discourages our individuality. It’s just teaching us to follow the crowd and be the same. I don’t know, maybe it’s the artist in me, but I hate having to conform to what everyone is doing, and wearing this godforsaken uniform falls into that category.

I glance in the cracked mirror that’s leaning up against my wall. My hair is a fucking rat’s nest. I run my hand through it, tousling it a bit before sighing in frustration. I guess I’ll have to get another haircut soon. I take another step closer to the mirror and pick up my eyeliner pencil from the table next to it, quickly applying it and smudging it so it doesn’t look too defined. 

“Perfect,” I mutter to myself, stepping back and adjusting my tie before glancing around the disheveled floor for my jacket. I kick stuff around, trying to find it before finally spotting it near my backpack, almost completely shoved under my bed.

I shove my arms through the sleeves, not even bothering to do up the buttons before I’m rushing up the stairs. I’m running late and I still have to walk all the way to the stupid school. I pull open the door at the top of the stairs that leads outside and skip to a stop before I can get out from under the roof’s edge. 

It’s raining. Well, actually, raining would be an understatement. It’s fucking pouring. Mikey suddenly appears next to me and pokes my shoulder making me jump out into the rain for a second before I regain enough sense to jump back under the safety of the roof.

“Mom says she’ll drive you, if you want,” he must notice my skeptical look because he sighs and gives me an eye roll. “Come on, Gerard. It’s not a big deal to get a ride. Besides, walking in this you’ll be soaked before you get to the end of the driveway.”

I bite my lip and look back out at the rain. He’s right. If I walk, I’ll end up looking like I drowned by the time I get to the school. As much as I hate bumming a ride from my mom, I have no choice. I sigh and nod, turning my attention back to Mikey.

“Fine,” I huff out as he smiles a little and turns to walk back into the house. _Fuck my life_.

***********

I run into first period English with barely 30 seconds to spare before the bell sounds. My mom had insisted on leaving the house at the last possible minute and I had to sprint into the school and to my locker just to make sure I wasn’t going to be late. I hated being late, even before Mr. Iero had come here, but now especially. 

I glance at my normal seat in the center of the room but, of course, some douche bag jock (I think his name is Dan) is sitting there. I huff out a sigh and send a dark glare I his general direction before sliding into the last remaining seat, which of course, just so happens to be directly in front of Mr. Iero’s desk. _Perfect_.

Mr. Iero rushes through the door about a minute after the bell rings and gives the entire class a bright smile.

“Morning, guys!” He pipes up, his cheerful voice resounding off the walls. “I decided we’re gonna move on from _Catcher in the Rye_ , because I want to focus on a new objective from the syllabus for right now.” He moves over to his desk and I can’t help but let my eyes wander over his small, but sturdy looking frame.

Today he’s wearing a black knit sweater with a dark blue shirt underneath and a tie, along with his faded black jeans again. He has got to be the most casually dressed teacher in this entire school, if not the entire district. 

I watch as he picks up a cardboard box from the floor and drops it heavily onto his desk where it makes a dull thud against the metal. He flips the box open and pulls out several copies of books that are identical to the one he gave me yesterday after class to read. I can see the gold embossed title written across the front cover.

“We’re going to be reading _The Handmaid’s Tale_ ,” Mr. Iero says, as he picks up a stack and starts walking down the aisles, distributing a red book to each student. “It’s a dystopian centered novel, and they just so happen to be playing the movie at the theater down the road next Wednesday. So it’d be much appreciated and to your own benefit to complete the novel before that time.” 

“So does this mean we don’t have to do the paper about Caulfield now?” Lisa, the girl from yesterday pipes up, twisting her blonde hair around her fingers like they’re fucking curling irons.

“Ah, right,” Mr. Iero nods, seeming to have forgotten the whole assignment. “I suppose you don’t _have_ to do it. But if you choose to do so, I’ll give you extra credit.” He flashes a smile at Lisa as he hands her a copy of the book. She lets out a cripplingly embarrassing giggle and I repress the urge to punch both her and myself in the face. 

Mr. Iero skips over my desk as he continues to pass out the novels, which unfortunately, does not go unnoticed by Lisa.

“Mr. Iero, you forgot Gerard!” She’s pointing at my desk and I turn my head to glance at her and cock my eyebrow. _Seriously_?

Mr. Iero however just smiles and shakes his head a little. “Gerard’s already read it, actually. He’s the reason I decided to skip to this part of the syllabus so quickly and he’s part of the reason I figured out about them playing the screen adaptation.”

Lisa turns her head towards me and, I swear if looks could kill, I’d have died approximately 8 times from that look alone. I resist the urge to smirk and instead turn my attention back to Mr. Iero who is now standing at the front of the room, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Alright, everyone, for the rest of the period I just want you to read. Be sure to pay attention to detail, and it wouldn’t hurt to take notes or even highlight key points in the book if you want. These copies are yours to keep. I got them for a great bargain so don’t worry about damaging them too much.” He smiles and I watch as he walks back to his desk and sits down, letting my tongue run over my lips.

I shake my head and try to push away any thoughts about him out of my mind. _Nope, this needs to stop. He’s a teacher. You can’t like him. Nothing can ever happen. Plus, he’s probably not even gay. Nope, he’s probably married with like 4 kids or something._

I let my eyes flicker to his hand and notice that, while there’s no wedding ring, there are quite a few tattoos that I hadn’t noticed before. Huh.

There’s letters on his fingers, but I can’t see anything from how his left hand is angled from me so all I can read is “hallo.” What the hell does “hallo” even mean? Isn’t that German for hello? 

My eyes slide back up his body to his neck and I notice a scorpion tattoo on the side of his neck near his jawline. _Well that’s kind of hot_. I let my eyes run back up to his face and I notice he’s staring at me, a small trace of a smirk on his lips. _Shit_. I tear my eyes away and pretend to be focused intently on the motivational poster of a cat on top of the blackboard in front of me.

As I’m feigning interest at the poster, it flits back into my mind that I have detention after school. I suppress a groan and wonder who is going to be the administrator for it. It used to be Mr. Weekes, but since he got fired, I’m kind of wondering who is going to be his replacement for that. My mind flips through all the possible faculty members when I suddenly feel like a brick just fell into the bottom of my stomach.

_ Wait _ .

If Mr. Iero is Mr. Weekes’ replacement for English Literature, would that make him the replacement for detention too?


	5. Children in Heat

After the final bell rings at the end of my Biology class, I shuffle to my locker, letting my feet drag on the ground more than normal. All day I would remember that I had detention later – presumably with Mr. Iero – and a feeling of dread would solidify in my stomach. The only thing keeping me sane at this point is the probability of me not being the only one in detention. As long as someone else is in there with me and Mr. Iero, there won’t be an issue. I won’t have the urge to pin him to the blackboard and make out with him.  

As I near my locker, Ray materializes next to me and I jump slightly at the sound of his voice, having forgotten that I was still in a hallway, surrounded by students rushing to get off school grounds.

“Hey, want to come over and have a _Star Wars_ marathon? I got my mom to get the director’s cut.” He’s smiling widely and bouncing with excitement, which is causing his hair to bounce in a way that’s almost comical. 

“Ugh, I wish I could, Ray,” I groan, the dread of detention rushing back into my stomach at full force. “I have detention right now for skipping yesterday.”

“Oh, okay,” Ray’s face falls and I instantly forget about freaking out over detention and feel bad. I hate bailing on Ray. Like I’ve said before, I talk to a few people, but for the most part Ray and I are the only two from our little “group”, I guess you would call it, that actually hang out. “Maybe tomorrow, then?” 

“Sure, Ray,” I give him a soft smile and his expression perks up, suddenly hopeful.

“Yeah? Great!” He gives me a smile and waves before disappearing into the rapidly dispersing crowd of kids.  

I sigh heavily and turn towards my locker, spinning the combination lock and yanking the old metal door open. I toss in my thick Biology textbook and pull out my tattered notebook and a pencil. Should be sufficient enough for an hour worth of detention, right? I slam my locker door shut, and turn to wander down towards the detention center, purposefully dragging my feet behind me as to put off as much time as I can.

I finally arrive at the room and exhale a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door and let myself slip inside. I glance around and not even Mr. Iero, or even another administrator is present. I immediately feel a sense of panic well up in my stomach. _Great, Gerard, just great. You probably went to the wrong room and now you’re going to get in even more trouble because they’ll think you’re skiving off on detention_.

“Hey, Gerard!” Mr. Iero’s cheerful voice breaks into the middle of my inner panic and I physically jump, knocking into a nearby desk. “Whoa, careful, now!” He reaches out and fixes a grip on my arm to keep me from falling onto my ass. I’m staring like an idiot at him with my mouth open, but he smiles.

“Guess it’ll just be you and me today in detention,” he muses, glancing over the detention attendance sheet he’s holding in his free hand.  He seems to realize he still has a vice-like grip on my arm because he looks at his hand before quickly releasing it. “Oh, sorry about that. You can sit down if you wish. Or stand. I’m not picky.” He flashes another smile and I have to resist the urge to melt into a puddle at his feet. This is going to end badly, I can already tell. 

I finally manage to gain some of my brain power back and motivate myself to amble over to a desk near what would be Mr. Iero’s own. I drop my notebook onto the desktop and slide down into the seat, staring awkwardly at Mr. Iero as he makes his way to the desk in front of me. He jumps up onto the desk, letting his short legs swing off the side like a five year old would.

“So, how’d you get caught?”

I’m taken aback by his question at first and stare at him like a fish out of water for a few moments, my mouth flopping open with no sound coming out.

“Uh, m-my brother, Mikey, h-he didn’t know why I went home and so Mr. Bryar c-caught me and told him t-that I had detention,” I stumble over my words and feel my cheeks flare up in embarrassment. Why the fuck can’t I talk coherently around this guy?

Mr. Iero gives me an understanding nod and sympathetic frown before glancing around the classroom, giving me a few seconds to somewhat compose myself.

“This room really gives off a depressing vibe,” Mr. Iero murmurs, inspecting the room from his perch on the desk.

“It’s a detention room in a Catholic high school,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “It’s not supposed to be cheerful.” 

Mr. Iero turns back to me and smirks, “Point taken.”

We sit there in silence for a few minutes, the buzzing from the florescent lighting above us a constant white noise. I watch as he surveys the dreary room with an amused smirk on his lips. My mind flits back to yesterday when I was in my room imagining those perfect lips stretched around my dick and I have to physically shake the thought from my head and adjust how I’m sitting in my seat just to be sure that nothing overly embarrassing can occur.

“I got an idea!” Mr. Iero suddenly cries out, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his iPhone. “Let’s play some music. What kind of music do you like?”

“Uh,” my mind draws a blank and I can’t even process the question properly. _Music? What’s music?_ “Uh, well, I like a lot of stuff.” _Wow, way to sound retarded, Gerard._

“Hah, well what kind of ‘stuff’?” Mr. Iero is smirking again, his head cocked to the side as he waits for me to elaborate. _Fuck, he is so adorable._

“Uh, well, I really like The Misfits?” My voice cracks and goes up at the end as if it’s in a question and my face flares up again. I should write a book on how _not_ to act around attractive people.

“Ah, I love them,” he smiles and scrolls to something on his phone before grabbing a pair of speakers for a computer from the desk next to him and plugging them in. He presses play and I recognize the song that comes on: _Children in Heat_. “This is probably my favorite song by them.”

“Me, too,” I mutter, realizing how fitting the song is right now. I definitely feel like I’m in heat. All I want to do is get up and fuck Mr. Iero into the desk right now, but no. I shake the thought from my head, covering up the motion by flipping my hair out of my eyes. 

“What other bands do you like?” Mr. Iero leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as his eyes wash over me, giving me the feeling of being x-rayed. 

“I like The Smashing Pumpkins… And Iron Maiden… The Smiths and The Cure…” I hesitate for a second before finally adding, “Oh and I have a thing for David Bowie.”

Mr. Iero cracks another wide smile at that and chuckles, “Same, just don’t tell anyone. Guilty pleasure.” He winks and I’m suddenly glad I’m sitting down because I’m sure if I had been standing, I would have collapsed to the floor right then and there.

The song ends and he switches over to some song I’ve never heard before, by a band I can’t even recognize, which is saying something because I have a special talent for identifying bands. Whoever they are though, they’re good. 

“Ever heard this before?” Mr. Iero asks, but I can tell from his smirk that he already knows the answer. I shake my head a little and he laughs. “Yeah, I would have been surprised if you had.”

“Who is it?” I ask, unable to resist possibly discovering a new band.

“Oh, no one important,” Mr. Iero smirks, looking at the clock at the wall. “Eh, I say you’ve been here long enough. What do you say we cut this detention session short, huh?”

I glance at the clock and notice I’ve only been here for about fifteen minutes. I swear I could kiss this man right now, but instead I just smile and nod enthusiastically, “Yeah, that’d be perfect.” 

Mr. Iero waits for me to grab my notebook off my desk and follows me out the door, shutting and locking it behind us. We walk down the hall together and I can’t help but notice he’s not as short as I had originally thought; only about five inches shorter than me. I also notice he walks like a small child at times, swinging his arms and almost skipping along. But then switches back to adult mode, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking with what I can only describe as perfect posture. 

We walk all the way to the entrance to the school but stop as soon as the front doors swing shut behind us. It’s still pouring just as heavily as it was this morning. Well this walk home is going to be lovely.

“Well,” I mutter, looking down at my notebook trying to decide if it’ll suffice as an umbrella. “I guess this walk home will be interesting. Sure hope those swimming lessons as a child are still stuck in my memory somewhere.”

Mr. Iero barks out a laugh but then turns serious, “Do you want a ride home, Gerard? It’d be no trouble. Plus you’ll have less chance of drowning.” His lips turn up at the corners into a smile and I feel my heart flutter a bit. 

“Uh, well, I mean if it’s not a problem or out of your way or anything, sure,” I scratch the back of my head and look out to the parking lot awkwardly. 

“Alright, well we should probably run, so we have less time in the rain, okay?” I nod and take a deep breath, waiting to run out into the icy downpour. I’m not much of an athlete and foresee this ending badly. Like me sprawled out on the pavement in the pouring rain, kind of bad.  “Okay, go!”

Mr. Iero and I both sprint out into the rain which is coming down so hard it almost feels like I’m being impaled by hail. I have no idea where I’m going so I let Mr. Iero take the lead, weaving us in and out of various cars in the lot. Of course, his car is in the very back of the lot. We reach the old black Saturn and I wait in the frozen rain, shivering as he fumbles to unlock the door. He wrenches the door open, flinging himself across the seat to unlock the passenger side for me.

“Sorry,” he sighs, shaking out the rain from his hair as I slide into the seat and slam the door shut behind me. “The automatic lock broke and I haven’t had time to get it fixed yet.”

“I-it’s o-okay,” I stammer out, my teeth chattering to the point I can hardly form the words correctly. He jams his key into the ignition and turns it, letting the engine roar to life. Mr. Iero presses a series of buttons and cranks on the heater, warm air immediately blowing out of the vents. 

We sit there for a few moments, soaking up the warmth from the heater, before Mr. Iero finally puts the car into drive and pulls us out of the parking lot. 

“Alright, you’re gonna have to give me directions, because obviously I don’t know where you live,” Mr. Iero gives me a quick glance to the side and offers me another smile.

“Uh… Right… Um, take a left up here. I live down on Division Street, just past the 7/11 on the left.”

Mr. Iero flips on his blinker, taking the turn I told him and I watch as he sneaks a look at the clock on the dashboard.

“Hm…” he muses. “What would you say about going to see that band we were listening to back in the room? There’s a show in about 15 minutes, and I have plans to be there.” He smiles to himself a little and it confuses me but I shrug anyway.

“Uh, sure, I guess. I don’t really have any plans.”

“Great!” He turns the car down a side road, speeding towards downtown Belleville. We drive for a few minutes and I’m about to ask where we’re even heading when he pulls up to the curb outside a small bar that I’ve never heard of.

Mr. Iero gets out of the car and I rush to follow him. He stops at his trunk and I wander back to it, curiosity getting the best of me. He flips it open and pulls out a black guitar case, slamming the trunk and turning back towards me.

“Let’s go!” He nearly shouts, wide smile back in place. He walks past me into the bar and I shuffle awkwardly behind him. 

The bar is dimly lit but looks fairly clean from what I can tell. There’s a small stage set up on the opposite side from the door and I can see several musicians setting up their equipment over there. 

“Sit where ever you like, Gerard. And order whatever you want to drink, it’s on me,” he waves me away towards the tables with a tattooed hand and I watch as he lugs the guitar case to the stage. I let out a sigh and turn towards the table, picking one at random and sitting down.

A waitress makes her way over to the table as soon as I sit and takes my simple order of a Diet Coke before rushing away as the few lights from the bar dim even more and the stage lights up.

To my surprise, Mr. Iero walks up to the main microphone, the guitar from the case slung over his shoulders.

“What’s up, everyone? We’re Pencey Prep and this song’s called Don Quixote.”


	6. Hey There, Mr. Iero

I watch in amazement as Mr. Iero throws himself around the stage, his guitar moving in time with his body as if it’s part of his body.  The sleeves of his white, button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows, exposing an array of colorful tattoos. I’ve never been one for body modification, but Mr. Iero definitely makes it so much more appealing. Mr. Iero leans towards the microphone, his voice, a perfect mixture of rough and smooth vocals, flowing from his throat as he sings out the words to the song I had listened to no more than an hour ago in detention.

His muscles and tendons in his arms and hands are moving and I find myself staring open-mouthed in awe at how skillfully he can play the guitar but still focus enough to sing at the right parts. I can see the sweat shining on his face and soaking through his white shirt, hinting at even more tattoos underneath. He must be fucking covered in the things. Mr. Iero’s dark hair is plastered to his face and soaked through with sweat, which I must admit, is quite a good look for him. His mouth falls open against the mic in-between lines in the song and I can’t help but compare his facial expression to what I imagine his orgasm face to look like and _holy shit_.

I wipe my sweaty palms down my thighs and grab my glass of Diet Coke for something to at least keep a grip on. There are several people standing near the stage and I can tell they’ve watched Frank’s band play before because they’re all singing along and when the band takes a break, they’re even shouting requests. How have I never heard of his band before? I always keep up with the local music scene. Mikey and I always go to shows; one would think there’d have been some way I would have stumbled across them at some point.

Mr. Iero slides down to his knees, bending back so his back is flat on the ground and I nearly drop my glass onto the table. It should be illegal for anyone, especially someone as attractive as Mr. Iero, to be able to do that sort of thing. He sits back up on his knees, his mouth still wide open, and I’m reminded of yesterday in my room when I had pictured this exact position. I feel my jeans grow tight immediately and I cross my legs, letting my mind produce the most horrific images possible to help control myself.

Around the time that a mentally manufactured image of my grandmother in a bikini grabs my attention, Mr. Iero and his band all shout a thank you to the crowd in front of the stage. He turns around and hands his guitar off to a friend before jumping off the low stage and making his way towards the table I’m sat at, a wide smile across his sweaty face.

“Enjoy the show?” He asks, still beaming through the perspiration. I nod enthusiastically, not trusting my own voice to function correctly. Somehow, his smile widens even more and I wonder how much it must hurt his cheeks to smile so much all the time. “Give me a few minutes to go pick up my stuff and we can get out of here, alright?”

I don’t even have a chance to reply, physically or vocally, before he’s walking back towards the stage again. I reach for my glass of Coke but realize it’s gone and as I look at the stage, I watch as Mr. Iero takes a gulp from it before sitting it on a stool. _Oh_.

Childish “oh my god he just had his lips where my lips were” thoughts flit through my head but I chase them away with threats of images of Grandma in a bikini again. It’s not long before Mr. Iero is waving goodbye to his band and moving back through the bar towards me.

“Ready?” He gestures to the door with his guitar case and I nod, standing up from the table and follow him through the door back outside into the rain. We rush to the car and Mr. Iero just throws his guitar in the backseat instead of fussing with the trunk again. He slams the door and cranks the engine to life before turning back to me.  “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any plans right now, would you?”

“Uh, n-no, not really,” I stammer out, my eyes widening in surprise.

“Okay, well would you like to come over to my place and watch a movie maybe?” He asks, his voice sounding almost hopeful and making me want to melt into a puddle yet again. I stare at him, probably taking too long to answer because suddenly he gets flustered with himself. “Wow, never mind. You probably have better things to do than go watch a movie with a teacher. Wait, do teachers and students even watch movies together? Oh god, this is so not professional. Wow, I’m so shit at this.”

“No,” I blurt out, interrupting his battle with himself. “I-I’d love to go and watch a movie.”

He gives me a sort of skeptical look, but I just give what I hope is an encouraging smile.

“Are you sure?” He asks, almost sounding nervous and I resist the urge to aw out loud. I nod eagerly and he lets out a sigh, nodding a little before facing the road and pulling away from the curb out into the thin stream of traffic.

The ride to Mr. Iero’s apartment is a quiet one. I have no idea what to say, and I know Mr. Iero is probably still battling himself in his mind and I don’t want to be the one to disturb it. He pulls the car up to a nice apartment complex and I feel almost a little bit surprised. I was expecting something a little more… run down maybe. I mean Mr. Iero is obviously an adult and would know how to pick out a nice apartment, but after today I just see a punk kid when I look at him. And this definitely doesn’t look like somewhere a punk kid would elect to live.

Thankfully the rain stopped on the drive over so we don’t have to scramble up the sidewalk to the complex. I wait while Mr. Iero punches in the code for the door. He pulls it open, holding it open for me so I can rush inside and wait for him to lead the way up the stairs and to the left to Apartment 248 B.

He unlocks the door, throwing it open and letting me walk in before he steps in and shuts the door behind us. I follow the short hallway to a small living room with a single couch, a recliner and coffee table. Opposite the couch is a nice flat screen TV mounted on the wall and I almost let out a low whistle. Mr. Iero has a nice place, which is _way_ more than I was expecting.

“Well, make yourself at home,” Mr. Iero gestures to the couch, before turning to walk into what I assume to be a kitchen. “Want anything to drink or eat?”

“Uh, sure, water please?” I ask uncertainly, moving to the couch as I watch Mr. Iero disappear into the other room.

I lower myself carefully onto the couch, still staring around the room. There’s nothing on the walls except the TV, but it doesn’t feel empty like most places would. There’s a book shelf against the wall on each side of the television, each shelf filled. One bookcase looks to be filled with countless books, some older looking than the others, while the other one is stacked full of DVDs. I fight off the urge to get up and inspect any further and just fold my hands in my lap while I wait for Mr. Iero.

He returns shortly, two glasses of water and a bowl of popcorn in his hands that he sits on the table before turning to the shelves filled with DVDs.

“Any preference in movie?” He asks, looking over his shoulder at me with a smirk and I shake my head slowly. Fuck, we could watch _Barney and Friends_ and I’d be completely content with that.  Mr. Iero turns back to the shelving unit and scans his eyes along the titles before reaching out and pulling a case from the middle shelf.

I wait while he puts the disc into the DVD player and watch as the menu screen for the movie pops up. _Dawn of the Dead._ Not what I was expecting, but this works. I’m all for zombie movies. Mr. Iero turns around and walks back to the couch, grabbing his glass of water from the table before plopping down right next to me, leaving half the couch vacant. I fake a coughing fit to disguise my now tomato-red face and lean forward, picking up my water and sipping on it gingerly as the opening scene of the movie starts up.

I keep my focus on the movie, listening intently to Mr. Iero as he gives commentary throughout. I laugh, or simply give an affirmative response when he quiets down, but avoid looking anywhere but the screen. I’m consciously aware of the fact that his leg is pressed right against mine and that his hand is placed on his thigh at a place where it also touches mine.

Noticing this almost makes my heart race so fast it’s a wonder I haven’t gone into cardiac arrest yet. Image me sitting on the couch and just keeling over from a heart attack. Oh how I’d love to hear Mr. Iero explain that to my mother. _Well, you see Mrs. Way, we were sitting on the couch and I accidentally put my hand too close to his leg and his heart just stopped._

About halfway through the movie, I feel Mr. Iero shift and can tell he’s staring right at me. I swallow dryly and dart my eyes to the side, catching his eyes and watch as a smirk spreads across his face. My heart rate picks up and I wonder how likely it actually is for someone to go into cardiac arrest just from sitting in the same room as someone like this.

“W-what?” I stammer out, my eyes widening as I feel my cheeks flare up again. His smirk widens and he simply shakes his head.

“Nothing, just thinking,” he says, tilting his head to the side a little. “So what do you do outside of school when you’re not watching weird teachers perform with their shitty band?”

“Uh, nothing actually,” I reply sheepishly, playing with my now empty glass. “I mean, I hang out with people, sometimes? But my life is pretty boring.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend or something that you hang out with or do things with or anything?” He probes, genuine curiosity in his eyes and I can’t help but choke out a laugh.

“Uh, no,” I laugh, my face growing even more red. “I, uh, don’t have a g-girlfriend.”

 “No girlfriend?” Mr. Iero cocks his head to the side again a little, his eyes locking with mine almost as if he’s searching for something. “Why not?”

“Uh, I just d-don’t?” I sputter out, not understanding why exactly he’s bringing up this difficult of a topic. “I mean, I haven’t since about sixth grade. I guess I realized I don’t even find girls appealing, you know? Not like I even have had a boyfriend though. That definitely isn’t happening for me. I mean, look at this conversation. I’m way too awkward to hold even a platonic conversation with someone let alone romantic. Wow, why am I even telling you this? You probably don’t care. Should I just go? I’m probably annoying you and you-“

Suddenly Mr. Iero’s lips are pressing against mine and I let out a choked noise of surprise. Mr. Iero is kissing me? Should I do something? What do I even do? I can’t even remember the last time I’ve kissed anyone. Before I can do anything Mr. Iero, pulls away, a smirk plastered back on his face as I just stare at him.

“You do know you can kiss back, right?”


	7. Hands Down

I stare at Mr. Iero incredulously as he smirks again before putting his hand on my cheek and closing his eyes, guiding his lips back to mine. His lips press against mine and I hesitate for a moment before finally closing my eyes and returning the slight pressure. He makes a small noise of approval and moves his hand up to thread it in my hair, pulling me closer to him.

I let myself fall forward towards his lap, careful to keep our lips attached. This is by far the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. His tongue traces over my bottom lip and I freeze, not sure of what is even okay to do. I've only kissed two people before in my life, and neither of them were a fucking _teacher_.

“Stop over thinking it,” he murmurs, the breath from his words ghosts over my lips creating a cool feeling where his tongue wet them.

He slides his tongue along my lip again and I hesitantly let my mouth open slightly. Mr. Iero sighs with satisfaction, letting his tongue dip inside my mouth, brushing against my own. His hand slides up to tangle in my hair making my breathing stop as I let out a low whimper.

His tongue slips over mine, leaving behind a faint taste of cigarettes and what I assume is mint gum. I cautiously flick my tongue against his, receiving a pleased sigh which finally stirs a bit of courage in me.

I reach up my hand tentatively and glide my fingers up his jaw as I move my tongue in a slow rhythm with his. Mr. Iero turns his head a little, diving his tongue further into my mouth. I moan quietly and let my hand move up into his hair, tightening my fingers around the strands and tugging him closer to me.

Mr. Iero groans quietly at first but before I can barely register the noise, he’s disentangling us, pulling back to look at me. I widen my eyes, not sure what’s wrong. Was I not supposed to touch his hair? _Wow, way to go, Gerard. Fuck up everything with the first kiss, as usual_.

“We can’t do this,” Mr. Iero pants out between breaths. “This is wrong. We – we shouldn’t be doing this. I – ”

I nod slowly and watch as he runs his tattooed fingers through his hair, nearly pulling the strands out. I never expected any of this to happen, so it’s not too disappointing for him to finally realize we can’t do this. Teachers and students aren’t supposed to hook up.

We stare at each other for a moment, both biting our lips unsure of what to say. The silence grows awkward, with only the movie playing in the background and I wonder if I should just get up and leave. Go home and talk to my mom about the possibility of transferring schools maybe. I’m about to move from the couch when Mr. Iero finally speaks.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, smashing our lips together again and wasting no time in reacquainting his tongue with mine. I choke out a surprised moan before closing my eyes and letting his tongue manipulate mine around.

He turns his head, deepening the kiss as his hand moves from my cheek down over my neck before tangling in the front of my school shirt. His lips detach from mine and follow the same path as his hands, trailing kisses down my jawline and neck. I gasp, willing my breathing to even out and not sound as panicked as I’m feeling.

“Mr. Iero,” I pant out as his hand slips down my chest, settling over the rapidly growing bulge in my pants and squeezing softly.

“Frank,” he hisses, his breath hot against my throat.

“W-what?” I ask, my eyes snapping wide-open.

“Frank,” he repeats, a small, husky laugh escaping his throat. “My name is Frank.”

Wow, I hadn’t even considered the fact that he had a first name. How did that small detail escape me? Does he think I’m rude for not having asked before?

Before my brain can go any further on that train of thought, Mr. Iero – Frank – bites down on the pulse point on my neck, causing my eyes to shut as a loud moan rumbles out from my lips. His grip on my crotch tightens again, his thumb rubbing circles over the fly on my pants and I have to strain to keep myself breathing.

I bite down on my lip, forcing my harsh breaths out through the smallest opening possible and focus on not letting myself go too early. _Nothing will ruin this moment more, Gerard, than you coming inside your pants like some uncontrolled animal_.

“Is this okay?” Frank breathes against my neck again, the warm air causing a weird sensation over the wet parts of my skin. I swallow and give a quick, enthusiastic nod, earning more bites and kisses along my throat. Frank works swiftly to unbutton my pants, quickly shoving his hand down to palm my completely hard dick through my boxers. “What all do you want?”

“I d-don’t know,” I stammer out, willing my brain to work at a normal pace. His fingers trail down my length and I buck up into the touch wanting more. “I-I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Oh?” Frank muses, his nose skimming over my Adam’s apple as his fingers work their way into my boxers and wrap around my already leaking cock. I give a sharp nod, my voice catching in my throat and leaving me unable to vocalize my assent. “We can go slowly then.”

His grip on my cock tightens as he starts to stroke his hand up and down, using my precum to make his motions easier. He thumbs over my slit and I buck up into his hand, a moan spilling out of my lips before I can stop it.

Frank pulls back from where he’s been kissing along my jaw and his hazel eyes stare into mine as he twists his hand up and down my length, pulling it out of my boxers into the cold air of his apartment. I bite my lip, staring back intently into his eyes and thrust up again into his fist, wanting more than Frank seems willing to give. Frank seems to catch on because his movements get faster, and my hips continue to meet his strokes in a perfect rhythm.

I close my eyes and tip my head back, my mouth falling slack as Frank thumbs over my slit again, twisting his fist as he slides it down my cock. Heat starts pool in my abdomen and I know that I’m not going to last much longer. It’s with just one more flick of Frank’s wrist, and my come is splattering across his hand, pants and shirt, his name spilling from my lips and echoing loudly around the room. I force my eyes to open again, my breathing frantically trying to return to normal, and notice Frank’s still staring at me, a smile plastered across his perfect face.

He leans in, pressing his lips to mine giving me just enough reaction time to kiss back before he pulls away to smile at me more.

“Well that was incredible,” he states, his grin widening even more. I nod, still unable to speak and glance down at his pants.

“Uh,” I gesture vaguely at him. “Should I – uh…”

“What?” Frank asks, tilting his head a bit to the side like a confused puppy before realization finally hits. “Oh! No, no, don’t worry. I’m… All set?”

His face is starting to grow red and I realize what he must mean. I instantly blush even more than him as the idea of me coming making Frank jizz his own pants takes over my mind. _I made my English teacher cream his pants while he gave me a hand job, oh my God_.

“Well,” Frank murmurs, glancing around the room in an almost awkward manner before focusing back on me. “Guess we should clean up and get you home, yeah?”

I nod and watch as he pulls his shirt over his head and fusses around wiping the already-drying come off my stomach. I run through the day’s events as Frank gets up and moves around his apartment, changing his clothes and searching for his keys that he doesn’t remember sitting down.

He finally locates them in the kitchen and we shuffle out of his apartment, the zombie movie still playing on the flatscreen. The car ride is quiet again, mainly due to the fact that I don’t know if Frank even wants me to say anything at this point. For all I know, he could hate the fact that this even happened. He’s probably writing his letter of resignation from Queen of Peace in his head as he weaves the car through the streets of the city and brings us closer to my house.

I stay quiet until we reach my street and I point Frank in the right direction and indicate my driveway and silently thank whatever God decided to cause my mother not to be home yet. It’s so much easier to only deal with Mikey’s questioning, no matter how incessant he can be.

“Well,” I huff out, my hand already gripping the door handle. “Thanks, I guess? Um…”

“Listen, Gerard,” Frank says, his eyes boring into mine again. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I’d like to do this again, just, we can’t tell anyone, okay? I’d lose my job, and probably end up in prison. I don’t think I’d do well in prison.”

He laughs, but I just nod solemnly in understanding. I hadn’t even considered that all of this could lead to trouble on his end. He could get fired, go to prison, and get in so much trouble just for sticking his hand down my pants.

“I hope you wouldn’t mind us doing this again?” Frank continues, his voice sounding unsure and his face almost looking so hopefully I feel my stomach flip over.

“No,” I blurt out, causing Frank’s face to fall before I can rectify my mistake. “Wait! No, I mean no as in I wouldn’t mind! I’d love to do this again. Hands down this was the best evening I’ve had in a while, promise.”

I give him a soft smile, one he returns eagerly, his white teeth sparkling in the dim lighting of the car.

“Good,” he says, still smiling. “Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in class then.”

I nod, taking that as my cue to leave and pull the handle, pushing the door open into the rapidly darkening neighborhood. I exit the car and make my way up the driveway, turning around just in time to see Frank backing out onto the street. He honks his horn shortly and takes off down the road. I wait until he turns left at the intersection before turning and going into the house.

I can hear Mikey fumbling around in the kitchen and know he probably has seen who dropped me off, but I don’t feel like dealing with his interrogations right now, so I walk straight down into my room, shutting the door behind me.

As I lay on my bed, thoughts of the day flash through my head and I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to do the same thing again, but this time with Frank in my room. I glance around the mess and realize I should probably clean in the event that ever _does_ happen. But I guess that can wait till later.


End file.
